“It was one of their ways of keeping in communication with their thousands of secret agents all over this country. I wouldn’t be surprised if occasionally these advertisements were printed in Texas papers and shipped over the border into Mexico. We have been watching the mails and the telephone and telegraph lines for months, yet all the while Mexico has been sending messages across, telling the U-boats everything they needed to know. We never thought of checking up the advertising in papers in the Mexican mail.” “But what about the messages old Mr. Hoff left in the bookstores? Was that part of the plan, too?” “It may have been simply a duplicate method of communication in case the other failed. The Germans here know that they are constantly watched and take every precaution. We’ll land that girl as soon as we have the Hoffs safe behind the bars, and then we’ll soon see if Carter’s dachshund theory was right.” “But who,” asked Jane, “is the spy in our navy? Who signalled the Hoffs’ apartment and supplied them with the news about our transports? Was it Lieutenant Kramer?” “Probably,” said Chief Fleck carelessly, “that is not my end of the work. It is up to the Naval Intelligence Bureau to clean out the spies in the navy. I’m after the boss-spy. After we land him it will be easier to get the small fry. A defiant German prisoner once boasted to me that Germany had a man on every American ship, in every American regiment, and in every department in Washington. I suspect it comes pretty near being true. A country that has so many citizens with German names and such an enormous population of German descent has its hands full.” As they talked the chief’s car had crossed the ferry, and turning north through Englewood, was heading rapidly in the direction of West Point. “Where are we going now?” Jane ventured to ask. “To the place where I was yesterday—where we had the accident?” “Not directly,” the chief replied. “I sent Carter and some men up there ahead of us to do some reconnoitering. I’ll get in touch with Carter at the restaurant at the State Park. He was to call me up. We are nearly there now.” As the car swung into the park and stopped before the entrance of the two-story restaurant building, Fleck sprang hastily out and started for the telephone but stopped abruptly at the sight of a young man with bandaged head and with one arm in a sling who rose from the concrete steps of the building to greet him. “Why, Dean,” he exclaimed in amazement, “what are you doing here? How did you get here?” “You don’t think I was going to be left out at the finish,” laughed the chauffeur. “But your injuries, your arm—” “Both all right, as right as they’ll be for several weeks.” “But how did you know we were coming here? How did you manage to get here?”